Red, White & Who
by SpaceAnJL
Summary: *Complete* Sexy. Damaged. Brilliant. Erratic. And there's two of them.
1. Coming thru' the Rye

_**A/N: **I'm new to this 'ship, but an enthusiastic convert. I'm trying to write something a little more serious, but in the meantime, I thought I might ease myself in with a little crackfic. The inside of my head is a strange place – if Jane's memory palace is a carnival circuit, I think mine is a funhouse. Or possibly the asylum at Arkham. Anyhow, I've been away for a while – simply put, my old computer expired. And then my external storage went with it. All my notes, my archived fic, my book...So, here we are. Starting from scratch. Won't this be fun?_

1. Coming thru' the rye...

Teresa Lisbon grits her teeth, disentangles her boot heel from another stack of tangled roots. What the hell were they doing out here? They were a Serious Crimes Unit. They investigated murders, arson, even art fraud, but...cattle rustling? Oh, Minelli could call it what he wanted, organized theft and trespass, but basically they were out trying to creep up on a bunch of folk who liked to steal cows. She trips, bites another curse. She could hear what has to be Rigsby crunching along some few hundred yards from her left, and scowls. He and Van Pelt were tall enough to see over this damn greenery, whilst she was stuck down here. She feels like a mouse in a maze.

Her radio crackles, and she slaps it on, grateful for the distraction, hoping it hasn't alerted anyone.

"Lisbon."

"Agent Lisbon, this is Deputy Merritt. We've, uh, found somebody." She could picture him, scrubbed and earnest, looking way too young for the uniform. Every time he calls her 'ma'am', his adam's apple dances with nerves. "Caught him climbing the fence by the south gate."

"Is he armed?" Sharp worry.

"No, ma'am. No gun...but he says he's on the investigation?"

Oh crap. She closes her eyes.

"Let me guess...he's wearing a suit, and totally inappropriate footwear?" Damn the man. "Just...keep him there. I'm on my way."

Turns, and trudges back along the corn-rows, catching her own inappropriate footwear and cursing her own lack of inches, inconsiderate damn cattle thieves and a certain consultant, who had been told very firmly to stay with the damn car. She'd cuffed him to the door to make a point. If anybody got to shoot the annoying s-o-b, it was going to be her.

She has a full mad on by the time she sees the group by the SUV's. And is totally derailed by the fact that the man next to Merritt is a complete stranger.

Quick dark eyes take in everything, the thin, pale face alert and interested, as he bounces on the balls of his feet, red and white trainers incongruous with the dark suit. The slightly manic grin with which he greets her is hardly reassuring either.

"Agent Lisbon? Hello." British accent. Cheery, unconcerned that he is surrounded by sleep-deprived and heavily-armed people. "Look, we seem to have a little misunderstanding here..."


	2. Takes One to Know One

_A/N – I know I should have posted this in the crossover section, really, but I wanted the emphasis on the team. There's a damn great clue in the title, but if classic British sci-fi isn't your thing..._

2. Takes One to Know One

Jane is thoroughly miffed. It has nothing to do with being cuffed to the car – he's flattered that Lisbon wants him unperforated – but weird and whacky is what he does, after all. He'd ditched the restraints (entry level street magic, so embarrassingly juvenile) but before he could stroll after Lisbon, she'd come marching back, with another man in tow. A skinny man in a long brown coat, strolling along with his hands in his pockets. And she was being deferential and polite, and smiling at him, and...well, it wasn't to be tolerated. He swung the door open, and strode to meet them.

"Next time you want to tie me up, Lisbon, all you have to do is ask...Is this our rustler? He's not really dressed for it."

"No. This is Dr. John Smith, a consultant from UNIT." She turns her apologetic smile to the newcomer. "I'm sorry, Jane has no sense of personal boundaries."

The man pulls his amused gaze back from the cuffs hanging from the open car-door, gives a wide toothy smile.

"I quite understand. Experimentation, key to maintaining the fire in a relationship and all that."

"What?! No!" How did this situation get away from her? Out of habit, she glares at Jane. "If I could _trust_ him to stay with the car_..."_

"Always with the trust issues, woman..." His most charming smile, hand outstretched. "Patrick Jane. So, what do you consult on?"

When Jane goes to shake hands, he does that double clasp that means he's looking for a pulse, his own little lie detector. From the look of shock on his face, quickly masked, he's not got what he expected. The other man waves an airy hand.

"Ooh...stuff. Incursions, anomalies," (As if on cue, Rigsby looms up out of the night.) "Bigfoot sightings..."

Another couple of deputies appear, along with Cho, who walks very quietly and seems to be spooking them no end. He regards Jane's welcoming smile with suspicion.

"All quiet through sectors three to eight, just Van Pelt and her guys finishing a sweep of the far end. Looks like a no-show."

"Cho, have you heard of UNIT?"

"UNIT?" Cho's eyes widen slightly. (Which, in anyone else, would mean a step back and a dramatic gasp, at least.) "Scary-ass military intelligence."

They look at the man, who runs a self-conscious hand through his brown hair, straightens his tie.

"I'm under cover. Civilian consultant."

Lisbon rolls her eyes. Give it another minute, and they'll be sniffing each other's butts and growling.

"Why are you being so...awkward?" She still has to ask?

"Because that ID card is blank." Jane says smugly.

"Really?" The man blinks at him, at his lapel, actually holds the card up to his ear and shakes it. "Don't think it's broken. No, see – consultant for UNIT. There, black and white, capital letters. You really can't see it?"

Lisbon sighs.

"Okay, so this was funny for about five seconds..."

"No, I can't." Jane's voice, low and reasonable. "But you want me to. And I'm not buying it."

"Good for you." Wide conspiratorial smile. "Takes an exceptional mind to be immune to psychic paper..."

"Uh-oh." Cho murmurs. "He said the p-word..."

Jane leans over, eyes intent and his kindest smile on. The one that makes the team instinctively loosen their sidearms.

"So you claim to be a psychic?"

"Me? No. Psychic _paper_ – you impress upon the viewer what they want to see."

"The middle of an investigation is no time to be showcasing magic tricks." Lisbon snaps.

"Jane does it all the time." Rigsby unwisely interjects. Cowers when she glares.

"Excuse me, can we stow the talent contest for now? I have criminals to catch."

"Weee-eell," 'Smith' pulls his ear, face screwed up, "Actually, you probably won't."

"Oh?" Lisbon conveys a world of threat in one syllable.

"They'll hear you coming." he says it apologetically. 'They're from Zyrhepsikron..."

("Is that in Mexico?" Rigsby mutters. Cho shrugs.)

"...and they've got really good hearing. Ears like bats."

An empty-handed Van Pelt with her back-up would seem to bear this out.

10101010101010101010

The deputies have all been debriefed and sent home. It's just the team and the stranger left, seated in the rickety little hut that they've been using as an H.Q. Lisbon, who has learnt the hard way not to distrust Jane's instincts, even if she distrusts his motives, is reluctant to let Smith just leave. Jane has been staring intently at the man all through the debriefing. That was the neatest sleight of hand he's ever seen, switching that ID, because it got past him. He's good with accents, and there's something about this one that he can't place. And the body language is...off. Smith is even more restless than Jane himself, prowling round the room and peering at the incident board.

He puts on a pair of dark-framed glasses, squints at the photos. A sudden frown.

"Oh, now, that's just rude."

"Oh?" Lisbon, arms folded, eyebrows raised, that sceptical little half-smile on her face that she usually reserves for Jane.

"'Your brood mothers mate out of season.'" He shrugs, apologetic. "It loses a little something in the translation."

"I'll bet." She's debating crop circles with a nutcase. "That's the element of this case we've _not_ been publicizing. This gang have been leaving these wherever they've been stealing livestock."

"Well, they would. They're aliens."

"Aliens?" Pause. "As in illegal immigrants seeking a new life?"

"Nope. As in beings of extra-terrestrial origin seeking lunch."

A challenging grin. She's not sure whether to humour him, or shoot him. Mind you, most days, she feels that way about Jane.

"Right." She's openly grinning back at him, now. "Cattle mutilations, crop circles...what is this? The 'X-files'?"

"Oh, that was good when it started. Gillian Anderson...I've always liked red-heads. What about you?" Fired at Rigsby, who chokes in his coffee. He smirks, continues, "It's the usual story – they've grown up a bit, flown the nest, decided they want to see a bit of the universe, so they pick a small out of the way place and trash it. Hooligans." Snaps the glasses off, shoves them back in a pocket. "Still, shouldn't take too long to sort out. Once they know I'm here, they'll leave. I have a certain...reputation."

"I'm sure you do. Is it just you working this case?'

A flash of something that might be pain, might be guilt, flickers over his face.

"Yes, well, I'm flying solo at the moment." His eyes pause on Van Pelt's red braid for a moment. "I...recently lost my...partner."

Van Pelt gives him a sweetly sympathetic smile as she gives him his tea.

Jane watches him.

He's a born showman. Used to manipulating people and events to his own ends. Expects people to follow him, if only out of confusion. Confidence that can so easily tip over into arrogance, born out of being the smartest person in the room. Gleeful enthusiasm, a mask covering a deep, abiding sadness. And a hint of something very, very dangerous, very well hidden, but coiled and ready to strike. He's lost people close to him, and been responsible for their loss. Carries a heavy burden of guilt...

"Stop it." Smith says, firmly.

"Stop what?"

"That...thing you're doing. I don't go around...well, actually I do, but...anyway, just...stop it."

10101010101010101010

Rigsby is trying to sponge the coffee off his tie.

"Man, this guy's worse than Jane."

"Van Pelt seems to like him."

"Well," Van Pelt colours a little. "He is kind of...foxy." She admits.

"What? He's a weirdo, man." Rigsby grumbles.

"I think he seems a little...sad. Kind of lonely." Van Pelt defends him.

"Right." Cho says. "A charming goof-ball, with no regard for social niceties, and a deep inner pain?..."

Three sets of eyes swivel between Jane and the stranger.

"...He's Lisbon-candy."


	3. The Red Cow Flies at Midnight

The Red Cow Flies at Midnight

Lisbon is being purely professional in her courtesy. Of course she is. The man is a colleague, obviously. Though he's not one of her team. An equal, in fact. And though she doesn't know it, she agrees with Van Pelt. Definitely a little bit foxy.

It is lonely, being in charge. People don't always understand that she has to think about all of them, not just the needs of one. Particularly when the one is being childish and annoying and self-absorbed and there are times when she could just throw him in a vat of Belgian choc...er, boiling oil.

Then, when she pushes her hair back behind an ear, and smiles back at Smith, Jane slides out of his chair and across the room in one easy motion, collecting Lisbon by the elbow.

The team exchange careful glances. They've never seen _Jane_ get territorial before. Lisbon has quite frequently swallowed a visible chagrin when Jane has flirted with, well, pretty much anything, but this is new.

"I don't trust him."

"And your reason?"

"He's just wandering around in the middle of nowhere being cryptic."

"Jane, that's what _you _do."

Jane growls.

Lisbon looks at him curiously. Jane, growling? A smile flicks the corner of her lips. Is he...?

"You're just sore that he got a magic trick past you." She raises her eyebrows. Your turn.

Jane's eyes narrow. Challenge accepted. But before they can get into it, there is an interruption.

Somewhere, outside in the night, a cow is having a Very Bad Evening indeed.

Grace Van Pelt had grown up in a small farming town, and she wasn't ashamed of it. She understood how devastating the loss of stock and crops could be to a community. She also remembered the communal outrage when a gang of college frat boys had taken to driving out from the city for an evening's drunken cow-tipping. So, hearing sounds of bovine distress, she takes off in pursuit. Surer footed than the others over rough ground, and with good night vision, she's in the lead when they make the field.

Van Pelt isn't easily scared. She's quite confident in her ability to make an arrest, as she brings up gun and flashlight.

Except...what she's looking at isn't even human. It looks like the mutant offspring of a rottweiler and a ghila monster, poised on its hind legs. A forked tongue flickers over a blunt snout, and a crest of spines raise in alarm. It has glowing red eyes.

She thinks of all this later. What she does do is to let out a scream that Fay Wray would have been proud of.

1010101010101010101010

Cho once sat opposite Rigsby at an all-you-can-eat ribs'n'chicken buffet. The carnage is giving him flashbacks. A tangle of white bones, stripped clean, and a few sad remnants of overlooked flesh.

Van Pelt looks to be on the verge of throwing up. Lisbon isn't surprised. The place smells worse than the men's locker room in high summer.

"Lisbon, I just trod in a cow." Jane inspects his shoe. "No blood."

"No weapon marks."

"No way." Lisbon looks down at what can in no terms be described as a _foot-_print.

"Er, guys..." Unaccustomed nervousness in Rigsby's voice. "Those little red lights out there? The ones in...pairs?..."

"Ah, yes. Eyeballs. Definitely." Smith sounds mildly disconcerted. "Yes, well, slightly more of them than I thought. Might be a good idea to...run."

10101010101010101010

There is a time to make a stand, and there is a time to get the hell back into shelter and regroup. No point in trying to make it to the cars - out in the darkness, there are odd shrieking calls, and once, the sound of something heavy striking metal, the tinkle of broken glass.

Jane has folded his coat up, and is sitting on it, chin on steepled fingers, an expression of bright interest on his face. It makes a change to see someone else on the other end of Lisbon's exasperation. Since he rather regards that as his place in the scheme of things, it is not a totally comfortable experience.

"You said they were teenagers!"

"I didn't say what species." Smith defends himself. "I told you where they were from, but no, you didn't believe me, and now you're all mad because we're being advanced upon by a horde of slavering interstellar lizard-beast-things..."

"Yeah, about that..." Cho mutters, checking his ammo.

"Now, I can probably sort this out, but..."

"But nothing. Are you armed?"

"Well, I'm not a great fan of guns."

"Then right now, you are a civilian, and you're in my way. Now sit down." Lisbon barks at him. Smith subsides, eyes wide.

"Is she always?..."

"Yep." Jane smiles fondly.

They sit with their backs to the wall, watching the team check their sidearms. Smith rummages in a pocket, pulls out a small paper bag.

"Jelly-baby?"

"Thank you."

It's a red one. Jane regards it thoughtfully, then bites the head off. Chews for a moment before he speaks.

"You do it very well."

"Do what?"

"Act human."

Pause.

"Thank you. What gave it away?"

"Two pulses."

"Two hearts."

"Oh. Right."

They carry on sitting. Smith offers the bag again, and Jane takes another sweet.

10101010101010101010

They are all cops. They know how it can be when a gang shakedown goes bad. Their best hope is to stay behind the barricades until they can raise help. Lisbon is still trying to think of a way of framing that request; they could all end up in a suite of matching rooms under the care of that nice Dr. Miller. And she'll be damned if she lets that harpy get her claws back into Jane.

Rigsby's damned if he'll let some tentacled monstrosity from outer space get its suckers on Grace.

"Don't do it, man." Cho warns him.

"Do what?"

"Rush out heroically. We're wearing the red shirts here. Metaphorically speaking. I'm the politically correct ethnic sidekick, you're the dumb muscle comic relief."

"Oh." Rigsby frowns. "Anyhow, what script are you reading from? I'm thinking 'Assault on Precinct 13.'"

"I was going with the whole 'Galaxy Quest' vibe." He turns. "What about you, Van Pelt?"

She sets her jaw.

"One of those goat-suckers pops up again, I'm going Ripley on their ass."

Rigsby watches her stalk over to the window, and sighs.

10101010101010101010

"They haven't developed a taste for humans. Yet. If they do," Something implacable flickers in his eyes for a moment, "I'll have to put a stop to it. And I'd rather not have any more killing."

"Dog whistles." Jane says, out of nowhere.

"What?"

"The bat-like hearing. They didn't like Van Pelt's scream. Dog whistles."

"Of course." Smith bounces up in a swirl of coat. "Wide spectrum sonic resonance induction field. Brilliant!" Pats down his pocket, pulls out what looks to be a very fancy flashlight. Jane looks at it.

"Ray-gun?"

"'Scuse me, this is a precision instrument." Smith tosses it up, catches it. "Sonic screwdriver. Just got to get the right setting."

"Will it work through walls?"

"Ah. No." Screws his face up. "So, we just have to get past your rather volatile companion."

Jane gets to his feet, brushes off his trousers.

"Allow me. Oh, Lisbon?"

To her horror, Lisbon finds herself confronted by two wide smiles, one full of a confident charm, the other, gleeful mischief. She takes an involuntary step backwards.

"Lisbon..." A honeyed purr. She can't go anywhere. He's got both her hands in his, and she freezes like a rabbit in headlights. Oh, god, those intense sea-coloured eyes of his, all soft and sincere. "I'm sorry, but I have to do this..."

He looks deep into her eyes, and presses one slow, smouldering kiss...on the back of her hand.

Well, it works really well as a distraction for Lisbon, that's for sure. Works really well as a distraction for Jane too, until Smith grabs his sleeve, and they both pelt out of the door.

"Interesting technique there."

"Yeah..."

An unearthly and bone-chilling shriek slices dark and vengeful through the night.

"JANE!"

Suddenly the stitch in his side doesn't seem so bad. He picks up the pace a little.

They make it out to the edge of the field, and Jane holds onto a fence-post for a moment. Maybe it's time he started taking a bit more exercise. There are coloured spots dancing in front of his eyes...or not.

"Erm. It might be an idea to fire off that sonic boom of yours sometime – now."

"Er, what? Nonono..." Sounds of frantic clicking. "Just need a moment..."

"That might be a problem."

Jane takes a deep breath, straightens up with his back to the fence.

A sea of spines, red eyes, fangs and claws and the worst breath ever. Tough crowd. This was going to be worse than Cleveland.


	4. Headlining at the Chupacabra Cabaret

4. Headlining at the Chupacabra Cabaret

"What do you suggest we do? Sing 'Rawhide'?" Jane's eyes dart across the serried ranks of ugly in front of him.

"I can't do witty repartee and concentrate on this." Smith snaps. "Work, you bloody thing!"

Heavy claws scrape the dirt, and something with a face out of nightmare, all scarred muzzle and dripping fangs, hulks forward. Snarls right in Jane's face. Blast of heat and old blood.

Jane smiles back, wide, delighted, sincere.

Show-time.

"Hi, my name's Patrick. Now, you – you're the leader, yes? Big noise in the pack. Pick of the females, and first in for blood." Points a finger. "But I have to tell you, that one at the back, second from right, he'd challenge you in a heartbeat."

And there it is. The faintest movement of the head. Gotcha.

"Oh, yes. Classic positioning. The followers huddle up close. That guy's just watching for an opening. Smart and focused." Finger swings. "Now, the big one on the left, Stinky...bed-wetting issues."

Whatever the aliens had been expecting, this obviously wasn't it. And they just as obviously understand what Jane is saying. 'Stinky' growls, then aims a swipe at the one next to him, who is sniffing curiously.

"I would guess...his brood mother kicked him out of the nest too early. Not like...him." Finger moves again. "Mommy loved him best. Still has separation anxiety."

The mood is definitely changing. Little currents of unease. The mommy's boy gets a shove from somewhere. Jane takes a breath, moves his finger again, and there are muted growls and some hasty shuffling.

"And you...you've been mating with your nest-brother's..."

There's a satisfied "Ha!" from behind him, and the signal goes off.

It's less a noise, more a wave of pain.

His last conscious thought is that he really should have kis...

10101010101010101010

"Lsbnn?"

"Nope. Sorry. Just me." Smith's face, upside down. Jane blinks. He's flat on his back, aching all over, with what feels like a Martini hangover doing a tango on his eyeballs. Quite a lot like Cleveland, then.

Above him, three red-orange lights, rising fast. Smith bounces back on his heels, watching them go.

"That was fun."

"Wasn't it." Jane clambers to his feet, picking assorted bits of vegetation off himself.

"Weeell, fills the time, doesn't it?" He turns his head, dark brows tilted. They understand each other perfectly. "'S'what I like about you humans. Always bounce back."

10101010101010101010

Lisbon picks herself up off the floor, shaking her head. What the hell... She'd been on her way to the door, when she'd met that – blast – coming in. Luckily, she'd landed on something soft. (Rigsby groans.)

Now, she's going out of that door, and she's going to find whatever those things have left of Jane...closes her eyes, closes her mind to the mental picture...she _is going to find Jane_, and then she is going to kick his ass into goddam orbit.

Any bloody lizard-thing gets in her way, it's well on the way to becoming a handbag.

10101010101010101010

Outside, it's so late, it's getting early. There is an awesome hush across the landscape, the very faintest beginnings of dawn. The only movement is a trio of lights on the cusp of the horizon. And two figures swaggering nonchalantly towards them. One, hands in pockets, coat swirling about him like a cape. The other, jacket swung casually over a shoulder. When he sees Lisbon hurtling towards him, he stops, big grin, arms open.

The team hold their collective breath. Will this finally be it?

She plants one on him alright. Small hard fist thumps into his chest.

"Dammit, Jane! You go chasing off against a ravening alien horde armed with a...a _flashlight_, and all you do is kiss my damn hand?!"

"I had to keep a clear head, woman. Couldn't have you distracting me..." He captures her flailing fists, keeps grinning at her. Drops his voice. "When I kiss you properly, it's not going to be because we're in peril. Believe me."

Lisbon looks adorable when she's flustered, he thinks.

Smith coughs elaborately, breaking the moment.

"Right, best be getting on. My work here is done, and all that."

Lisbon looks out over a field of wrecked and trampled corn, a meadow full of MacDonald's meat-puzzles. There are deep scratches in the side of the SUV, and something has been chewing the dash-board.

"I don't know how we're even going to begin to start the report on this."

"Ooh, I've never liked paperwork. More of a man of action, me."

"She's a stickler for procedure." Jane warns him. Smith begins to back away, jerks a thumb.

"Just parked over the hill. Never been one for long good-byes..."

A last cheery wave, and he jumps down out of sight. His voice floats back.

"Besides, someone has to escort those little buggers out of the atmosphere..."

Jane laughs at the varied facial expressions around him as that gets processed. And after a minute, Lisbon starts to laugh, too.

"And I always thought you were the one on a different planet."

"No. But did I ever tell you about that ballet dancer from the Missoula state fair?..."

10101010101010101010

Another beautiful day in California, and the dawn chorus begins...

"...no, you can't drive..."

"...diner on the road back...think the boss..."

"...much cholesterol is bad for your arteries..."

"...never want to see another hamburger..."

"...don't drive too fast. C'mon, I'll even let you cuff me again..."

"...said _no_..."

The gentle wrangling fades off, with the sound of car doors slamming, engines starting. Then there is nothing to disturb the peace, except a strange cyclical mechanical wheezing...

_...vworp, vworp..._

10101010101010101010

The TARDIS gives a reproachful lurch. The Doctor braces himself against the console.

"No, we couldn't have brought him along." He says to it. "I don't care how cute you thought his smile was."

_-End-_

_SpaceAnJL – dealing only the very finest crackfic. Thank you, I'll be here all week. Try the veal ;)_


End file.
